


He Loves Me (Not)

by LightningInABottle



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst and Feels, Drabble, Flowers, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Pining, Poor Thomas Jefferson, Unrequited Love, flower picking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 16:10:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13884414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightningInABottle/pseuds/LightningInABottle
Summary: On a summery Virginia afternoon, Thomas Jefferson decides to play a simple child's game to see if his feelings are reciprocated.What's the worst that could happen?





	He Loves Me (Not)

_He loves me_

 

Thomas Jefferson sat in his garden in Monticello, plants of all hues and colors of the rainbow surrounding him. Normally he would have been afraid of staining his suit pants with the bright green grass that flourished all around the property, but here there was nobody to impress. Hamilton was not filling up the silence with one of his infamous rants and insufferable political opinions; something that had become a constant in Jefferson’s life. Instead, the immigrant was most likely up in Albany, spending the summer with his family. Alexander was surrounded by people who loved him, but Thomas was, once again, alone.

 

_He loves me not_

 

Alexander Hamilton was a walking contradiction, a hurricane of conflicting ideas, all bound together by passion and intelligence that could almost rival Thomas’s. Almost. Of course, another thing that held Hamilton together and motivated him was his pure hate for Thomas. The two men were friendly enough when they met, but when Alexander proposed that moronic plan of his, when Thomas dragged the bastard’s name through the mud in front of Washington, then everything changed. What was once a sociable rivalry intensified into a quest for bloodthirsty revenge and humiliation.

 

_He loves me_

 

On lazy summer days like this; where the sun was shining, casting it’s gentle warmth down on Virginia and temporarily banishing the dismal weather, Thomas liked to relax and dream of an alternate reality where Hamilton and him were at least cordial. Maybe even friends. And on days where he was feeling particularly brave, of a future where the two of them were lovers. Jefferson knew that Alexander was no stranger to extramarital affairs, but he also understood that Hamilton’s feelings were just like the weather. One second he could love a person, the next he was leaving them for somebody new. Hamilton could profess his neverending devotion all he wants, but at the end of the day, there is always somebody better.

 

_He loves me not_

 

So dreaming is the best Jefferson could get to an actual relationship with Alexander Hamilton. It was a painful thought, but one that needed to be addressed. While Alexander was a perfect rival to sharpen his debating skills against, he would never be anything more. They were simply too different for that. Where Thomas Jefferson was subtle and passive-aggressive; delivering insults in the form of compliments, hidden by a smug smirk, Alexander Hamilton was fiery and hot-tempered, constantly blurting out whatever was on his mind and filling the air with barbed words. Of course, the differences in personality were nothing compared to their conflicts in politics.

 

_He loves me!_

 

But maybe, just maybe, Thomas’s feelings were requited? Was it so insane to assume that Alexander was also drawn to Jefferson, pulled to him by an inexplicable force, almost like two magnets? Could the creeping shadow and the blinding light be more suited for each other than any other partners Hamilton chose? Thomas couldn’t have been the only one to see the obvious chemistry between Hamilton and him. The way the immigrant’s dark eyes blazed up, glaring at Thomas so intensely, as if he wanted to read his mind, how Alexander flushes when Jefferson speaks, or when the Virginian pulls him closer by the collar only to push him away after hissing angrily. And there, in that little bubble of warm summertime happiness, Thomas Jefferson indulged himself, pretending, if only for a moment, that Alexander Hamilton did, indeed, love him. Of course, that’s what the daisy he had been so carefully picking the petals off of said.

 

_He loves me not…_

 

However, dreams, as dreams are prone to do, fade away as the recipient wakes up. They leave no trace of existing, except in the mind. Or in this case, a daisy with one small petal sticking up from the base. Thomas Jefferson scoffed to himself as he dropped the daisy after noticing the white flower owning one more petal than originally anticipated. It was just a dumb child’s game; a stupid daisy couldn’t possibly signify the nature of Hamilton’s feelings. Maybe a petunia would do better. A daffodil? A rose? Flowers after flowers were cast aside, and after the whirlwind of color that Jefferson once considered beautiful was settled around him, he buried his face in his hands, a silent sob tearing it’s way out of him. All the plants said one thing to him, and he could almost hear Alexander Hamilton’s voice rising up out of the ruined garden and reverberating through the petal-less flowers.

 

_He loves me not_

_Loves me not_

_Loves me_

_Not_

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so I was supposed to be working on Chapter 3 of At Least They Know I Know Where France Is, but instead I was getting all nostalgic and remembering the game we used to play with flowers. 
> 
> (Pick off a petal each time you say "they love me/they love me not")
> 
> And then I thought of one half of the Jamilton duo doing that, so this was born!
> 
> Honestly, Thomas needs more love. Who's with me?
> 
> Comments are always appreciated, every single one brightens my day!


End file.
